Hourglass
by CrystalShardsOfRain
Summary: Time. It is an essence we all fight to control. Time can be compared to a small grain of sand, weathered and worn, fragile and irreparable. Time can dance through all forms of life, playing god. Time is simply unstoppable and untameable. But sometimes... time falls right into our trembling fingers. Loki holds the hourglass, and all it takes is one lethal turn before chaos reigns.
1. Chapter 1

**Heeey world! Welcome to my story! I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for quite awhile now! It's been... about a year? I think it's had quite enough time to simmer! I would like to thank all of you guys for taking the time to read this, it means ALOT to me. I love feedback, I'm sure all you lovely people do! I like to improve my literature, suggestions are welcome! :)**

**Please read, favourite or follow! (I'll give my computer screen a high five if you do! :P) Thanks a bunch!**

**-CrystalShardsOfRain**

Loki lay in the wake of Hulk's wrath, broken, twisted and bleeding. Crimson life blood slowly oozed from Loki's pale thin lips in small pink bubbles, each rising and falling with every rasped breath the god struggled to inhale. He had never experienced bone breaking pain, for he had never been defeated before in such a violent way. His thin agile body ached from the anguish, crying out in an agony too unbearable to completely fathom. It was almost as if the excruciating pain was a living thing, an organism feeding from the torment that submerged his body and his soul.

Loki stared transfixed at the ceiling of Stark Tower, eyeing the pale tiles thoughtfully above. He followed their intricate lines, some deeply grooved, and others as thin as strands of hair, that adorned the ceilings surface. He memorized the lines, the shapes, the textures, and the soft glow of light reflected from the tile surfaces too. Sometimes, the creamy white would transform into brilliant shades of orange and yellow, all from the explosions meters away. The sound pierced his ears strangely, filling his cranium with loud, exuberant sound.

Loki knew he was loosing. He was loosing the battle he had prominently started. It was a fact he despised to think about, but alas, it was the stone cold truth. His brother had defeated him again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Loki's emerald eyes darkened from the thought, his irises shining with flaming anger. He was tired of failing, tired of loosing to his own treacherous games. He had lost too much to fail again. His family, his life, and his honour? It was all gone, nothing but a faded memory, a past life. Loki had nothing more to give.

The gods facial features dropped in stubborn defeat, his lips down cast and his green eyes aglow with prominent sorrow. He had lived too long in Thor's ebony shadow, a shadow that had plagued his life with endless anger and hate. In Loki's eyes, Thor was nothing but a spoiled brat, a temper mental child. He did not deserve the title of king, and he did not deserve the love of the Asgardians. Loki was tired of playing second fiddle, tired of playing the part of the pathetic little brother. He wanted to be something more, something worth being.

His quest had brought him nothing but an abundance of emptiness, multiplying his hatred for Thor 10 fold. He had bluntly decided that Thor was the cause of his failure and his pain. Because of the thunder god and the Asgardians, Loki was a monster, a cruel, startled being. He was not a prince of Asgard, just a relic, a stolen artifact from a kingdom long gone, a kingdom he had tried to destroy. He had wanted Odin to see what he was capable of, and he had wanted to prove his superiority over Thor. He had discovered that his efforts were merely fruitless. Thor had always been the star child, always. Odin cared not for the thunder gods ridiculous follies, for it seemed to only make things better, never worse.

Loki felt useless and disgraced. Odin and Frigga never had loved him, never. He assumed that they had pitied him above all else. They knew what he was, where his real heritage had come from. He was not a son of real, gracious royalty, not to the Asgardians. He was a game piece, on offering of peace, peace found, then lost. Loki was nothing but a blue, angry monster. He was no longer the humble, sweet boy in his past. He was something else, something else entirely. Trying to exceed Odin's expectations, along with Thor's, was no longer his goal. After all, that plan had obviously back fired, things always tended to when Loki was involved.

And now, he was loosing. He was forever destined to lose. Was it fate? Chance? Loki didn't know. What he did know, was that he was not ready for his fate to take hold. He wasn't prepared to loose, not quite yet. With trembling fingers, Loki reached into the depths of his blood splattered green robes. He groped around, searching his person for the item he possessed. He wiggled his fingertips, reaching and stretching. It filled his battered body with unbelievable pain, a pain that burned like unholy fire. Loki gasped and retched, trying desperately to reach the item that loomed hidden within the darkness of his pocket. Finally, with much effort, he succeeded.

With a strangled yell, the god of mischief pulled a dangerous looking knife from the ebony confinements of his emerald robes. With slow, twitching fingers, he gingerly lifted the shimmering blade to his handsome face, eyeing the wicked weapon with a devious gaze. The knife itself was beautiful, in a strange, mystical way. The handle was gold; shiny, pristine, monumental gold. Inlayed rubies, sapphires and opals adorned the sheaths metallic surface, along with intricate carvings. Swirls and curvy lines spiralled up the handle until gold met with glowing silver. The blade of the knife was entirely different. It was sharp and lethal, but beautiful, like a crazed painting. Multiple inscriptions lined the blades silvery backdrop, each inscription a foreign language. Even Loki with his vast intellect, could not decipher the writing that traveled across the heavy appendage of sliver. He assumed it was a forgotten dialect, ancient, as old as time itself.

_As old as time itself. _A sly smile bloomed across the god's face, popping the crimson blood bubbles that followed the contours of his lips. The knife had a special purpose, a _very _special purpose. As beautiful and enticing as it was, it was not a trophy. It was a dark, evil weapon, darker then the depths of Hel. The knife was a legend of a world long forgotten. Odin had called the blade Aetas, the definition meaning "time". Loki and Thor had only been children when Odin had spoke of it, but the memory still burned brightly in Loki's mind, as bright as a roaring flame.

The knife's origin was long forgotten, but it's story still reigned true. It was said that an ancient king had traded his soul for the lethal blade, for he had longed for power. He had wished to rule all the branches of Yggdrasil, the nine realms, and the space beyond. Because of the kings greed, his kingdom split in two. The great ruler grew angry, for his kingdom had sided against him. In fury and in rage, the mad royal stabbed all who defied him with the silvery blade. For that very reason, Aetas was cursed, cursed with blood of all the thousands who had died. The story had frightened Loki once, but he had grew out of his fear. He now cherished the blade, for it was useful.

The curse was what Loki enjoyed the most. After the ancient king had supposedly murdered his subjects, he had stupidly pricked his finger on the violent blade. With that one clumsy action, he had forever cursed himself. Aetas had the ability to erase a person's timeline, and once the ancient king's blood had touched the cruel metal, he was forever destined to rot, doomed for all eternity. Loki smiled, twisting the blade to catch the bright afternoon light. The gleaming blade glittered and shined, attracting Loki's green eyed stare more fervently. The light shone into his eyes, lighting up his crimson covered features. He had plans for Aetas, the dagger of time. It was his chance at redemption, his second chance to succeed. It was his chance to ruin Thor after all.

Loki's thoughts churned and twisted, fighting for space deep inside his cranium. He would use Aetas to kill Thor, to destroy his timeline, and ultimately destroy Asgard while doing so. Without the rightful heir to the throne... who could rule Asgard? Odin was too weak and too old to defend the golden city. Without Thor, Asgard would fall, tumbling gracefully into chaos. It was then that Loki would finally taste the sweet revenge that lingered precariously on his lips. From then on, he could lead the Chitauri into Asgard, claim the realm eternal for his own, then eventually rule all of Yggdrasil, all of it. With the exception of one planet of course. Midgard.

Loki scowled, grimacing when the fowl emotion transformed his face. The pain that plagued his body was still immense and it simply refused to recede. The god's healing powers were at work of course, but it was very gruelling work indeed. It would take time until he was properly prepared to leave Stark Tower. The god of mischief could only hope that such things would commence quickly, for he was running out of time. The Avengers would be back for him and he knew it. It was stone cold reality, a reality Loki was brave enough to see. They would come for him, and Thor would bring him back to Asgard, the golden city of lies and treachery. Loki didn't want to go back. He didn't want to face Odin or Frigga. He didn't want to face a planet filled with demons and disgrace.

He wanted to conqueror it, he wanted to treat the Asgardians the way they had treated him. Horribly. Loki wanted to watch the spiralling turrets of Asgard collapse and crumble, he wanted to witness the chaos that would purge the golden land, and he would watch in anticipated integrity. That was all Loki wanted. The god of mischief wanted revenge on _everyone, _even if his path collided with Earth. There was no way he would let the Avengers fracture his plans. They had to go, along with Thor and Asgard. All the condemned humans of Midgard would have to die.

Loki stifled a snicker, before he slowly shoved the dagger of time back into his flowing green robes. He could feel the blade rest comfortably against his leg, it's surface heavy and cold. In some ways, the knife reminded Loki of himself. He was deadly and sinister, violent and devious. He could slice away at people with no regret, no pity. Loki's heart was cold, some would say it was made of pure, frozen ice. Loki smiled at the thought, blood dripping down his chin. Loki _was _ice. He was the son a Laufey, a frost giant. To him, it was fitting. Laufey was just as conniving as he, although he was now dead. Laufey's death was just another part of one of Loki's failed plans, only a memory to ponder, a useless, ridiculous memory.

The son of Laufey. Loki almost laughed at the thought. Who would have thought that he was once a prince of Asgard? The realm of loyalty and kindness, duty and honour. How could the Asgardians have misread him so? He had tried to conform to their expectations, but he had broke. Loki's true nature had shone through, frightening the golden realm practically into submission. Loki was a dark legend now, a name whispered through hushed conversations, a nightmare that tormented children at night. He was just as terrible as his father before him. But alas, Loki _was_ once a child, a prince of Asgard, and a brother. Did he miss Thor? The god twitched just thinking about it. No, he admitted. Thor is nothing but a shining prince of Asgard, a stuck up mule, he thought. Loki didn't feel an inkling for Thor anymore, at least he thought he didn't. His mind was too sick with obsession and anger to think otherwise.

Slowly, Loki found it in himself to rise from the cracked floor beneath him. He placed his bleeding fingers on the crumbled floor, digging his dirty fingernails into the destruction, clutching chunks of cement in his hands. In slow movements, Loki began to rise from the demolished ground. Tears filled his eyes from the strain as he pushed hard against the palms of his cold hands, fighting to sit up. With a strangled cry, Loki succeeded. He now sat in the large hole that engulfed most of his body, staring at the damage that the Hulk had caused.

Large craters littered the ground everywhere, almost like connect the dots, and debris and dust littered the air. The expensive flooring that had once lingered beneath his feet was completely gone, every possible space was consumed by Loki-shaped holes. The vast sky line window across from Loki was abolished and shattered, blown away from explosions, and of course, Bruce Banner's raging fit. The pent house was levelled. There was nothing left. Loki coughed in pain, spitting scarlet spray onto his long, slender fingers. The crimson liquid stuck to the gods pale skin like sticky glue, small droplets dripping onto his green sleeves. Loki scowled, wincing from the emotion displayed across his face. He felt weak, as if he were mortal.

_Mortals. _They disgusted him. Humans craved subjection, he believed. He thought that they were impulsive and savage like animals, wild, crazy animals. It shocked him completely how Thor had managed to fall in love with one. Jane Foster was her name. Eric Selvig, one of Jane's closest friends, spoke of her often, even under hypnosis. Loki had discovered that Jane was of high intellect and beauty. The god had often thought about her, pondering Thor's harboured feelings for her. Jane was nothing but a human, as useless as a fly, an ant under a boot. Loki had come to the conclusion that Thor was just plan idiotic. Mortals were savage and cruel, that was about as easy as it got.

Loki inhaled a deep breath and started to pull his wounded body from the crater. It took more strength then he realized, and was shocked by the fatigue he felt. He gasped, fighting for air, fighting for oxygen. Yet he had to get up, he had to. With another determined inhale, Loki thrusted his hands into the debris beneath him, feeling for the ground in order to get leverage. He pried around with his blood covered fingers, feeling for a stable spot, until he succeeded. In pained, agonizing movements, Loki pulled himself from the ground, sighing in relief when his legs appeared from under pieces of concrete. He now stood wobbly on his feet, agony shooting through his legs and his spine, burning him, forever burning him.

With undignified and unbalanced steps, Loki proceeded to walk across the room. He fought to get to the window, fought to see the chaotic world displayed vibrantly outside. Explosions danced across his green eyes when he finally made it to the shattered panes of glass. His left hand rested on one of the window's stabilizers for support. He could barley stand on his feet, he could barely breathe. The notion frightened him horribly. How was he suppose to get away? His healing process was working too slowly and it was dangerous. He didn't know how much time he had left.

Loki continued to stare at the chaotic world leaping before his eyes. Chitauri ships were crashing and blowing up in flashes of vibrant orange, yellow and red, even the Chitauri themselves were getting blown to pieces. Every now and then Loki would spot one of the Avengers amongst the terror and scowl deeply, his handsome features contorting into a look of distain. He saw Tony Stark, his impressive suit of crimson and gold catching the afternoon suns wrath, blow up another ship before his eyes, only meters away. Loki could feel the heat from the explosion lick his bleeding cheeks and warm his ice cold skin. The scowl on his face deepened. He really was loosing the battle.

Loki backed away from the window slightly when Tony decided to fly by his hiding place. It only lasted for a moment however, and soon the billionaire was gone, blasting at another Chitauri ship with his repulsers, jets of blue energy seeping from his metal clad hands like magic. Loki shook his head, his black hair dangling in the breeze limp and dusty. Slowly, he leaned out of the spacious window again, trying to comprehend the battled the waged below and above him. Above him? Loki looked up, peering through his eyelashes to get a good glimpse of the Tesseract portal. Something was wrong, very wrong. The Tesseract was failing and the radiant blue portal was vanishing. _Vanishing! _Loki stormed from the window, anger consuming his thoughts. This was it, he had officially lost. The god ran his hands threw his raven black hair and growled in furious rage. What could he do? What could he possibly do?

The knife in Loki's pocket suddenly became heavier. Loki could feel the contours of the blade press against his thigh, the inlayed rubies and gems, the forgotten writing. It seemed to burn his leg as he became more and more aware of it. It was almost as if Aetas was beaconing to Loki, speaking to his conscious in a way that only the god could comprehend. Time went by rather quickly while Loki stood transfixed by the window. He was to absorbed in the dagger to notice that the battle outside of Stark Tower had come to an end. He was too absorbed in the blade of time to notice Tony Stark fly madly towards the closing tesseract portal, an active nuke on the cusp of exploding in his arms. He was too busy to notice Thor fly by with mjolnir, his blonde hair whipping around in the air like molten gold. Loki didn't notice Natasha or Clint, Bruce or Steve, make their way by his hiding place.

When Loki finally decided to move, it was almost as if he had awoken from a long, sleepy dream. The problem was, he was almost out of time. In swift movements, Loki briskly walked away from the shattered window, the pain momentarily gone. He walked with a bounce in his step, as if he possessed knowledge no one else knew, his emerald eyes gleaming, and his bloodied mouth split open to reveal a lop sided grin. Within moments, Loki had vanished from the pent house. He didn't stray far however, he had a plan to put in action.

In deep breathes, Loki called upon his sorcery. He was talented in the ways of magic, he had always been. Ever since the early rounds of his childhood, Loki could remember chanting incantations, preforming spells, but all in the confinements of the library or his room in Asgard of course. Magic was not particularly well regarded throughout the golden city. Only seers, those gifted and born with magical qualities could practice it. Heimdall was one of those special people. He was born with it, whereas Loki was not. The god had to practice the ways of sorcery by himself, and all his years of practice were finally paying off.

Loki could feel the burning sensation of magic flow through his veins, it made him feel warm and pleasant. It spread slowly through his arms to the tips of his fingers, burning brightly, like a well lit flame under his marble skin. Loki felt as if he were a candle, bright, radiant, and powerful. He felt as if he were shining for the world to see. However, the feeling didn't last long. In quick jerky movements, Loki snapped his fingers. The small burst of sound filled the air around the god like a miniature sonic boom, his ears ringing from the effect. Loki didn't mind, for his quick spell had succeeded. It was one he had used many a time, it was easy and familiar, and it always, _always, _served it's purpose.

Loki stared at himself, a perfect mirror image, standing tall and strong before him. The god grinned wider, his pristine white teeth practically glowing. It will work, he told himself, it will work. Slowly, Loki reached deep into the green folds of his ensemble, his eager appendage searching for the dagger of time once more. His fingers gingerly brushed the golden handle, his index finger resting for a moment on one of the precious gems that adorned its surface. With a firm grasp, the rest of Loki's fingers tightened around the solid handle, pulling Aetas out from the dark depths of his forest green cloak. He held it in the air for a moment, the afternoon sun catching the untold inscription on the silvery blade. The light caught the double's green eyes, casting a weird yellow glow across his features. In well practiced movements, Loki placed the dagger of time into the double's expectant hands.

"You know what to do." Loki murmured under his breath, pointing in the direction of the pent house. In swift, graceful movements, Loki's double brushed by, taking the god's former place in the pent house. In the crater. On the ground. The god couldn't stop the sly, devious smile that transformed his features. The Avengers would fall for his easy trick. They would _definitely _fall for it, especially Thor. After all, the thunder god always did. Loki spun around on the heel of his foot gracefully, wincing slightly from the pain. This time he would win. This time he would succeed.

It only took a couple of moments before Loki finally heard the Avengers bust into Stark Tower. He could hear their voices loud and clear, the solid sound of their footsteps, even the soft noise of debris crunching defiantly beneath their feet. The smile on Loki's face continued to grow wider and wider, like a flower in bloom. Confidence filled his every movement, confidence he had lost and somehow gained again. _I'm going to trick you all, _he thought, laughing deviously in his head. He listened, stifling the overwhelming urge to laugh, as his perfect duplicate was apprehended. It was easy, almost like a choreographed dance. 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3... The god of mischief was enjoying himself. He was absolutely enjoying himself.

"May I have that drink now?" Loki heard his double murmur. The god folded his arms behind his back, still holding back laughter. He had heard enough. The Avengers were finally falling into his trap, a trap he had well devised. One foot after the other, Loki began to flee from his position near the pent house. He soon found him self in a clean pristine hall, a hall in much better condition then the room he was previously in. It was not long before he discovered an elevator, a steel, sturdy elevator. With slightly shaking hands, Loki reached out and pressed the down button. He was going to walk out of Stark Tower, right under their noses. He couldn't have planned things better himself. The elevator doors slid open and Loki slipped inside the compartment, a dark green blob of dust, dirt, and blood. He still was in pain, excruciating pain, pain that felt real in a bizarre way, pain that was almost alive. But that didn't stop him. It never would, for he felt more alive then the pain that wreaked havoc in his body, more alive then he had felt in a long time.

"Kill him" Loki murmured under his breath, before the elevator doors could hide his fleeing figure and his glimmering emerald eyes. "Kill him."

**Interesting idea? Leave me a comment, the little box is just below! It's calling you... :P You can hear it... in your head! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! I **_**finally **_**have chapter 2 up for you guys! I never intended for this chapter to be so long, but I definitely think it was worth it! Some interesting stuff goes on, I'll tell you that! Thor and the Avengers are finally introduced, and things should start to get... interesting. Keep your minds wide open, PLEASE! I would like to thank these AWESOME people for responding to last chapter with sweet words, and support!**

**jc72788187 - You have no idea how much it means to me to have your support! Your such an awesome writer, and to have your faith is really something! Thank you SO much! :D**

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**-CrystalShardsOfRain**

The heart is a very fragile thing. It beats with the low thrumming of a drum, echoing through dark silence, like an eternal chord of music, un-altering and steady. Yet the heart is not as strong as it is always believed to be. There are flaws, as tiny as they may seem. The heart is an instrumental machine and like an instrument, it can fracture. It can splinter like a torn bone, protruding painfully from broken skin. The heart, a golden locket of emotions, a deep cave of spectacular wonder, can break as easily as a twig under pressure.

Thor didn't want to believe that his heart was breaking. He was too strong of a man, to put his judgemental faith in such a thing. Yet it was happening, although he disliked to even ponder on it. The thunder god felt as if his heart was slowly shredding into two, like a measly piece of parchment, wet from water or tears. He felt as if he was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the shaded abyss his mind was, drowning in the dark clouds that absorbed his thoughts.

Loki. Loki had succumbed to feelings Thor had never even known he had housed. Things such as hatred, and loathing. _Loathing. _Thor didn't think Loki was capable to feel such awful things, although the god knew such emotions were possible to experience and hold. The thunder god had his fair share of wild fury before, but had never come to the conclusion to completely hate someone or something. He was no longer the temper metal, egotistical, self centred child he used to be. To hate, to really, _really, _hate, was almost like dying, in his eyes. It was a deadly, harmful emotion, filled with nothing but darkness and fowl shades of black. Thor didn't want to travel down that dangerous path again, ever. The darkness was simply to blinding.

Thor peered at Loki carefully from under his long eyelashes, wishing his brother would somehow become the boy he knew him once to be. His wish, unfortunately, did not come true. Loki only peered back at Thor angrily, his emerald eyes glowing with lethal malice. Although the god of mischief wore a muzzle, it didn't seem to tame Loki, not in the slightest. It clearly did the opposite. Thor could easily notice the furious stance his body was in, restrained, strait, and like a plank of wood, unyielding. Loki's mouth may have been absent, but his piercing green eyes made up for it all the same. The crazy emotions that danced across his startling orbs, disturbed Thor greatly. How could one portray so much, with only their eyes? It was worse then seeing Loki's whole face, in Thor's opinion. His deadly gaze told more then his face possibly could.

Thor gripped the tesseract tighter in his hand, ripping his sad blue eyes from Loki's withering form. He could no longer stand the sunken sadness that purged his friendly heart. Loki was gone, Loki would never come home to Asgard, at least not independently. The god of mischief held a grudge deeper then space itself, a grudge that would last an eternity of time. Thor could see it in Loki's eyes, and in all of his slight movements. The god of mischief blamed his misfortunes on Thor, always on Thor. Things would never balance or simplify, ever again. Loki's wrath was just too powerful, too furious and too diligent. Loki was not a force to recon with, for the god's anger was as pointless to cure as trying to battle against the wind. The wind simply can not be conquered.

What had turned Loki into.. this.. this monster? What had changed him so suddenly? Thor did not yet know of Loki's true heritage, not yet anyway. Loki had hinted at it many times, but the thought just didn't sink in. The thunder god knew the problem involved Jutanheim, but he couldn't quite place his finger on the chilling apprehension that crept up his spine. He only wanted Loki to be his brother, his quiet, sensual, brother. Loki was always the voice of reason, the small voice that lingered in Thor's head that just couldn't be heard. Thor felt awkward without Loki's constant presence. He felt lonely and cold, very, very cold. Without the god of mischief, a small piece of Thor's heart seemed to be missing.

However, Thor was still upset about Loki's previous endeavours. The god frowned thinking about it, his handsome face contorting dangerously. With careful eyes, the thunder god glanced fervently at the midgardian landscape surrounding him. New York was a crumbling chaotic mess, that was clearly obvious. Even though Thor, alongside Loki and the rest of the Avengers, stood in a small park clearing, the damage around them was all too evident. Skyscrapers, hundreds of feet high, had large gaping holes in their architecture where there had not been holes before. Debris, glass, and metal, littered almost every inch of pavement, along with thousands among thousands of craters. The sparse amount of trees around Thor had no limbs, all had been severed from the battle mere hours before. Chitauri ships lingered in the distance, along with random patches of flames, and small groups of startled pedestrians. The battle had took it's toll on New York and it's citizens. Cleaning up the battered mess the city was, would be a very gruelling job indeed.

Thor was definitely not happy with Loki at the moment, not in the slightest. How could one destroy so much, without a likely cause or reason? Loki's reason had been a pointless argument at that, Thor saw no glory in killing off the Midgardians. How were humans considered inferior? In Thor's eyes, they were intelligent and intriguing, and equal to the Asgardians of his very own realm. What made them so different? What made the mortals so degrading? If anything, they were strong, somewhat petty, emotional, and oddly enough, tough. The Avengers were an easy example of that. Thor had never fought with such an exceptional group of individuals before, aside from the warriors three, of course. Every single team member was _human. _Could Loki not see the equality in that? Each member was exceptional, brave and heroic. Were those not good qualities to have in a realm?

It was pointless for Thor to wonder such things. He had come to the conclusion that Loki was too delusional to see any kind of rationality. His brother was too caught up in his own beliefs and visions to see anything else clearly. Thor wanted to help Loki, he really did. That was why the god of mischief had to return to Asgard. It was there his fate would be sealed, it was there he would receive the help he so needed, after a proper trial of course. Loki's actions had to be amended, they could not go unpunished. Even a prince of Asgard must face the wrath of his people, and the judgement of his peers. Even a prince must face his own actions with bravery, although bravery may seem sparse. Loki had to be punished, it was as simple as that.

Thor slowly released himself from his own daunting thoughts. He could no longer stand the solitude of his jumbling mind, he grew tired of it, although he had much to think about. He had to make amends with the people of Earth, his mentally disturbed brother, and the Asgardians. He had many, _many _promises to keep. But what of Jane? What of _that _pending promise? Thor's stomach dropped several feet just thinking about her, and the oath he had sworn. His time with Jane, had been one of few precious moments in his long life. He had never known peace before, and with her... he had finally glimpsed freedom and renewal. Jane Foster had changed Thor in ways he could barley begin to fathom. He never thought he could fall for a person so easily, especially with his long history with women. But alas, he had fallen for Jane quite hard, despite the fact he barely even knew her. He hoped he would somehow find the time to do so. If he couldn't... he would make time. He didn't care how, but he would. He only hoped his parents would restrain themselves from interfering.

A slight breeze picked up multiple strands of Thor's golden hair, blowing it in his face. With his free hand, Thor brushed the stray hairs from his blue eyes, meeting the weary glances of the Avengers while doing so. They were there to see Loki and Thor off back to Asgard, the realm eternal, along with the tesseract, a radiant blue cube of pure, uncontrollable energy. It was finally back in Thor's capable hands, where it belonged. Loki had stolen it to begin with, and that very action proved to be a deadly one. By stealing the tesseract from S.H.E.I.L.D and manipulating it's power, Loki had started a violent battle against the Midgardians. After many screw ups and arguments, the Avengers had come together in one final act to save New York, the United States, and the world. Luckily, their efforts proved to be futile. Thor, Steve, Tony, Bruce, Natasha and Clint, had seized the tesseract and Loki at Stark Tower, winning the New York battle, ultimately gaining Earth's freedom once more.

The past few days had been extremely tiering to say the least, and Thor couldn't be happier to return home. It did sadden him, but he knew it was his duty to the Alfather to do so. That had been his deal, his promise, and his oath. Return to Midgard, retrieve the tesseract and bring Loki home, that was it, nothing more, nothing less. The thunder god was positive he would return to Earth at some other time, he knew the Avengers would need him again. There was Jane of course as well... Thor finally came to the conclusion that he would return as soon as he saw fit.

Thor glanced at all of his team members faces, memorizing the lines and shapes that created their features. The thunder god reluctantly admitted he would miss their company, despite how irritating some of it was. Tony Stark, the man of iron, bothered Thor the most in particular He was a very unpredictable man, a man with the gift of words, some wise and intelligent, but others... completely infuriating. Thor did however, have some difficulty understanding Earth slang. When words slipped through Tony's lips, Thor had to concentrate with all of his mind capacity to comprehend. When his efforts failed, the god settled for reading emotions and facial structure, which worked pretty well under most circumstances. Most of the Avengers were pretty easy to read, but Natasha Romanov was the most difficult to decipher. Her controlled demeanour made it hard for Thor, but none the less he tried. That had to count for something.

The thunder god blinked several times, hiding his baby blue orbs for a few moments before speaking. He gripped the contraption the tesseract was in harder, causing Loki to flinch. The god of mischief held the other end of the containment device, and the sudden surge of tension was unexpected. In some ways, Thor was about as unpredictable as Tony. The god peered at his knuckles, white from the strain of his tensed fingers. All would be well, he told himself, all would be well. "My friends." Thor said, his voice rather quiet, opposed the boisterous manner it usually adopted. He glanced around the semi-circle of Avengers again, his ocean blue eyes meeting multiple pairs of blue, brown and green irises. "I am deeply sorry for the damage Loki has caused your realm. My brother will not go unpunished, I give you my word."

All of Thor's team mates looked uneasy, especially Clint. His chocolate brown gaze was glued to Loki's restricted form, his eyes swimming with an anger that burned almost as brightly as the sun. Thor knew of the mental torture Clint had been submerged to. Loki had used such tricks in past battles, nearly driving his victims mad. The staff Loki had been equipped with had doubled that unfortunate power. Thor knew Loki's magic had it's limits. Over excursion usually fatigued the god, but it no longer had that effect, at least not with the staff. It was filled with dark magic, dark magic that sustained Loki's magical qualities for a longer period of time, without the effects of weakness. Thor had seen such objects in Odin's vast collection of relics, and Loki had always been intrigued by those items. He was however, never allowed to lay a finger on any of them. It made sense that Loki would find such way on his own.

"I'll hold you to that." Clint muttered, crossing his muscular arms across his leather S.H.E.I.L.D vest. His brown eyes were still glued to Loki's mint green gaze as he retorted, never breaking the eerie connection with the god. The archer was in fact furious, Thor could see the dark emotion plain as day. Clint would forever hold a grudge against Loki, that very answer rested right on his striking features. Revenge was bitter sweet, for it would not take away the pain that Clint still felt and recalled. It would haunt the archer for the rest of his life.

Thor nodded his head sadly, his golden hair shifting slightly from the sudden movement. All of his team mates would hold grudges, all of them. Thor wished they could have known Loki before he had somehow changed into the monster that wreaked havoc on their planet. Would they see the disturbed, mentally unstable man standing erect in front of them, instead of the mocking pride that adorned Loki's stance? Would they see the fatigue in Loki's emerald gaze instead of the hate? The thunder god doubted it. Loki would forever remain a demon in their world, a night time story for naughty children at dark. Loki had etched a black path across Earth, a path that would take forever to heal. Such things as those, remain for ages to come.

"I'm with Legolas," Tony agreed, nodding profusely in Clint's direction. "I don't want to see your psychotic brother again. I won't be as kind to offer him a drink next time." Thor watched as the billionaire folded his iron clad arms around his metal torso, his posture strait and demanding. Tony received several wayward glances from the rest of the team from his odd comment, but it didn't matter. Tony may have been worrying about his liquor, but no one else really cared. They were all to concerned about Loki and the matter at hand. It seemed to be the number one priority. They just wanted to return to the small slices of normality they all had possessed before the war, and they all wanted to bask in the peace they had captured, that was it. Every Avenger was aching from skin, down to bone. They had fought vigorously, and every member was clearly tired.

"I give you my solemn word that he shall remain under Asgardian custody. He will undergo a trail, and his fate will be determined. His actions will be amended, and your realm will remain at peace. Loki will never lay a hand on Midgardian soil again." Thor spoke his words solemnly, putting his teams false hopes at ease. Loki was in strong hands. He would return to Asgard to serve his punishment, it was what he deserved. Thor did not want Earth to succumb to more damage because of Loki, for he had grown to care for the planet as much as he loved his own. Earth was a gift to him, a gift more priceless then gold and diamonds, a gift close to Thor's heart. He would protect Midgard with all the strength in his body. He would keep a weary eye, and help when help was most duly needed.

Natasha nodded her head, her auburn curls bouncing in the cool breeze. She stared at Thor deeply, her intense green gaze intimidating and void. Her slender, feminine fingers looped gracefully around the weapons belt that adorned her small waist, her grasp tight and restricting. Her posture came off as rather lazy, but the tension in her body was more then obvious. She was slightly apprehensive of Thor, but it didn't matter. He was her team mate, she could trust him. "I hope your right Thor. Just... watch him. He's caused enough trouble already." She stated firmly, her voice strong and threatening. Thor understood her intentions, he knew what he had to do. He had thought through her very words already, for he had thought similar things himself.

"I will Lady Romanov. He is my brother, my responsibility." Thor could sense the emotional tension from Loki rise at that point. A piercing wave of sadness engulfed the thunder god once more, his wounded heart aching with sorrow and pain. Loki no longer thought Thor as a brother. Why? The god pondered, why? What had gone so wrong between them? Loki had spoken of a shadow, Thor's shadow to be exact, and it had nearly killed the thunder god to realize the impact of his own degrading actions. How could he have not noticed Loki's agony before? Thor did not know why he was so blind, nor the reason he had acted so selfishly in his past. He regretted it with every inch of heart, every fibre of his being. Was it his fault, Loki had become a monster? Did he truly deserve to wield the power of mjolnir, if it _was _his fault? It was a thought Thor struggled with every day.

Across the circle, Steve frowned, his handsome face contorting weirdly. "Loki is in charge of his own actions Thor, not you. He did this to us, it isn't your fault. Loki isn't your responsibility." Steve clenched his fists to his sides, his fingers brushing the contours of his patriotic uniform. Beside the super soldier, Tony reluctantly nodded, along with Bruce, Natasha and Clint. Thor only shook his head, feeling more upset then he already was. Loki _was _his brother, therefore it was his duty to take care of him. A slight gust of wind filled the air around the group, twisting the red drapery attached to Thor shoulders around and around, as if Thor's cape was a moving molten river.

"You are wise Steve Rodgers, but this is a decision I face alone. My bond with Loki is... it is a bond forged from years of time." Thor urged, his hand once again tightening on the tesseract. Thor didn't want to talk about his feelings at the moment, it just wasn't the time. Thor believed that the Avengers had no right to question him about his attachment to Loki, however fragile. It was something they wouldn't be able comprehend or even fathom.

"He tried to kill you Thor." Bruce interjected quickly, his hands attached to pants that rested loosely on his hips. He squinted at the god, his brown eyes narrowing and widening, focusing in and out like a camera lens. His glasses were missing from his transformation, and he couldn't see all that well unfortunately. But it didn't take away any of the meaning from the words that poured from his full lips however, for Thor understood them completely. The thunder god refrained from sighing, the sour sound filling his throat with hidden tones of frustration. Thor felt as if he were flying through thick fog. He was lost, stuck in a place where here or there didn't matter. It simply didn't exist.

"That may be true, but he is my brother none the less. What would you do if you were me?" Thor said calmly, although he felt no such peace. Tony took the opportunity to speak, waving his iron clad hands in the air hysterically. He looked like a child in fifth grade, pleading to argue the answer to a question. Steve groaned, running a torn and tattered hand through his dusty blonde hair. The rest of the group mimicked his actions, muttering incomprehensible things under their breathes. Clint even managed to rip his eyes from Loki's cunning green ones to stare at Tony right in the face. "What?" Steve muttered, exasperation filling his hoarse voice to the very brim.

"I would dis-own Loki. I mean, just look at him." For a moment everyone turned to stare at the dark god, eyeing Loki with looks of disapproval. The god seemed to shrink a little from the sudden attention, but it didn't last long. Loki stiffened, almost as if someone had pierced his skin with blades of ice. His emerald eyes darkened dangerously, his green irises melting several shades darker. Evil, sadistic, madness seeped from the god like wafting smoke, encircling the Avengers in heavy, toxic, tension. Everyone felt the chill of Loki's disturbing gaze, but it truly effected Thor the greatest. The thunder god felt his heart sink like a broken battle ship, drifting all the more deeper and deeper.

"See?" Tony questioned, inching farther away from Loki, in hopes to escape the poisonous emotions scattered through out the air. "Are you sure he's your brother?" To be completely honest, Thor was not quite sure anymore. He had to be though... wasn't he? The thunder shook off the thought, flashing Tony a deadly glare. Loki was, and always had been, his little brother. The billionaire had no right to say such things!The god scowled, his free hand moving toward mjolnir on his belt. His fingers twitched in anticipation, they throbbed from the allure of power mjolnir gave off. Oh, how he would love to embrace the silent whisper of magic that loomed at his fingertips. But he was no longer the angry man he used to be. Thor slowly calmed himself down, retracting his hand from the magical hammer that rested against his leg.

"Watch your tongue, man of iron. Loki is my brother, by blood, by _right. _Do not say such things to me, not now, not ever." Beside Thor, Loki's eyes glimmered, but it wasn't with malice, it was with... truth. Thor didn't notice it, but Tony did. The billionaire raised his hands in the air defensively, lifting his eyebrows slightly. He didn't want to get on Thor's bad side at the moment, especially since they were some how getting along. Thor and Tony had constantly been butting heads since their fist encounter. Steve _did_ bother Tony more however, that was strait, pure reality. But none the less, the billionaire wanted to maintain the peace. He was tired, sleepy, and more then anything, he yearned to see Pepper again. He wanted to hold her in his arms, sweep her off her feet, and kiss her inside out. He wanted to be safely tucked into Pepper's wonderful embrace.

"Fine, have it your way. Loki's your demon brother, great, divine. I'm just stating another fun option." Bruce and Steve rolled their eyes, restraining themselves from swatting the billionaire hard in the head. Tony could be such an ass when he chose to act like one. Both men could barley fathom how Pepper had dealt with it, all those long, gruelling years. They suspected she was naturally immune to Tony's irritating charms, most of the time anyway. Pepper was good at maintaining her emotions, and of course, her frustration levels. It was a miracle that she had lived through it all.

"We're sorry Thor, okay? Just be careful, things... aren't always what they seem." Bruce stated strongly, still tugging at his over sized pants. Thor inhaled a sharp breath, allowing himself to relax, however strenuous a task it seemed to be. His team mates did have a point, no matter how ridiculous their notions seemed to the thunder god. To Thor, Loki would always be his brother, always. No matter the crime, no matter the consequence. Loki had gotten Thor out of too many sticky situations, too many brotherly endeavours to count. Loki was an Asgardian, a prince. If only Thor could see how wrong he actually was.

For a few moments, all remained quiet. Only the sound of the wind could be heard, whistling softly through the Avengers ears, and rustling Thor's crimson cape like singing creek water. There was nothing more to be said, no more arguments, no more words of wisdom. Only silence, silence that spread through the air like a thick blanket, seeming to disperse through the city itself. There was no traffic, no sounds of life. It was odd to Tony who had resided in the city all his life, it was even odd for Steve and Bruce. Silence was seldom heard through out their lives, for they had always seemed to live in busy places. It was almost a gift somehow, a gift of peace. But it only lasted a few moments, even though the silence seemed to stretch out for hours. Steve broke the quiet first, his masculine voice ringing through the clearing like harmonious music.

"Well. This is it I guess. It's was an honour fighting with you." The super soldier approached Thor and held out his hand pensively, his fingers stretched wide from his sudden movement. Thor grasped the soldiers outward palm hesitantly, confused by Steve's weird actions. The super soldier slowly shook the thunder god's large impressive hand, and soon Thor got the point. Shaking hands was a Midgardian custom. "It was a great pleasure Steve Rodgers." Thor retorted, a thin smile blooming across his full lips. He continued to shake Steve's hand enthusiastically, overdoing the hand shake entirely. It didn't matter. Steve finally pulled his palm away from Thor's tight grasp grinning. Tony stifled a laugh, but mirrored Steve's actions. He approached Thor, shook his hand, expressed his farewells, then pulled away.

One by one the Avengers stated their goodbyes, all quick and to the point. Natasha managed to get a quick hug from the god, despite her strict nature, which surprised most of the group. She received a weary eyed look from Clint, but she brushed it off, assuming her regular demeanour once again. When every hand shake was completed, Thor prepared to leave Midgard along side Loki. All it would take was one simple twist of the tesseract, one well thought out jerk of his fingers, and both gods would be off to Asgard where they belonged. However not all things go as planned.

Just as Thor was about to rest his war worn fingers on the tesseract, all hell broke loose. In a burst of bright green light, Loki vanished. There was little time to react. Loki's side of the tesseract fell freely into the air, the sudden shift of weight catching Thor off guard. The containment device slipped through the thunder gods fingers, collapsing to the ground in one well manoeuvred movement. Meanwhile, the rest of the Avengers stood frozen, completely and utterly shocked. Loki was gone. _Loki was gone. _Natasha, Bruce, Clint, Tony and Steve, searched the clearing frantically, their eyes searching for Loki's tall, green, lean form. Their efforts proved to be fruitless.

Within moments, moments so slim and so tiny, moments completely too small, Loki appeared again. This time, he no longer wore the muzzle, this time his handsomely awful face was free. A rich, vengeful smile arched across his features widely, seemingly splitting his face in two. His mint green eyes glowed and glimmered with successes and malevolence, although pieces of anger and spite played tantalizingly on the corners. He walked up to Thor slowly, his footsteps hard and deliberate, as if each movement was to precious to waste. His silver and gold armour shined in the sun like bits if starlight, and his green cape billowed behind his shoulders like a never ending forest. Loki was a vengeful masterpiece, a demon absorbing hope and fragile light. He stopped several paces before Thor, his laugh ringing through out the chaos like a hopeless siren.

"You always fall for my tricks _brother. _I am afraid this will be the last time. Do not fret, you never were good at mind games." Thor stared at Loki quizzically, still trying to comprehend what was happening, but it was too late. Behind the thunder god Loki's double appeared, wielding a strange looking knife. The sun caught the violent looking blade like unholy fire, it's sharp tip glowing with dangerous iridescence. The silver of the blade contrasted with the knifes unique handle, but it's beauty was flawed, for it was sailing through the air, slicing and piercing the wind like water, on course to Thor's body. The rest of the Avengers ran to the thunder gods aid, screaming and yelling on the top of their lungs like frantic, insane children. They watched with helpless eyes, as the double drove the sinister blade deep into Thor's side, stabbing through the rich armour the god wore, to pierce Thor's fragile skin underneath.

Thor cried out in agony, collapsing to the ground like the tesseract before him, a bursting kaleidoscope of pain and blood. His knees gave out from under his body as he crashed to the unforgiving pavement below, his golden head smashing against the concrete with tremendous force. Thor had been to occupied with the real Loki, to notice the double attacking from behind. In slow, taunting movements, the double pulled Aetas from the thunder gods body, grinning deviously while doing so. Blood dripped from the silver blade like rain droplets, each crimson drop hitting the ground like splatters of rain.

It was then, the double passed Aetas to the real Loki, before ultimately disappearing. Loki Laufeyson, the real god of mischief, received Aetas with eager hands, tracing the contours of the golden handle lovingly, before thrusting the blade none to kindly into his emerald robes. He watched amused, as the rest of the Avengers raced towards him screaming, screaming with anger, sadness, shock and fear, clearly determined. But when one possesses a connection to time, things tend to move too slowly. The Avengers mad attempts to reach him all seemed but small seconds of time to Loki, as he watched Steve throw his mighty shield at his head, Natasha slide to a painful stop before Thor's bleeding body, and Clint as he released multiple glowing red arrows. They had _finally _fell victim to his devious traps, and he had finally succeeded.

Loki quickly made is way to where to tesseract lay on the cold, blood spattered pavement, managing to pick up the radiant piece of blue power to hold openly in his palms. He held the tesseract as if it were a bowl of ice cream, he held it with greed and pride. He held the key to his successes in his hands, the key to his victory. Loki had finally won. With shaking, twitching fingers, Loki slowly prodded one of the four sides of the tesseract, twisting the piece of blue, endless power, until it obeyed his command. Loki disappeared in a bright flash of neon light, vanishing for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Steve's shield struck a nearby tree, and Clint's arrows blew up a random building. That had been his very first miss. While Clint and Steve stared at empty air, trying to fathom how Loki had escaped, Natasha, Tony, and Bruce kneeled by Thor on the pavement. The red head's hands unsuccessfully covered Thor's wide wound, trying to block off the never ending stream of blood. Her hands were dyed a dark scarlet from her efforts, a scarlet she was not used to seeing so much of. The thunder god was moaning and crying out in agony, his voice strained and broken, like a constant streaming record. Natasha could barley take it, she had never experienced a team loss before, and she wasn't about to, not if she could help it! Things were not suppose to turn out this way, she told herself, fighting off tears. Meanwhile Tony was screaming at Jarvis from his glowing red and gold suit, screaming at the A.I to call Pepper. His efforts succeeded, but time was ticking, slowly fading away, disappearing into nothingness...


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, FanFiction! I apologize for taking so long to update, my computer's been annoying lately! It has been continually crashing, which drives me MAD! I managed to finish this, despite my computer's irritating issues, so thumbs up! Thank you guys for taking the time to read this, especially those who reviewed, followed, and of course, favourited! THANK YOU! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS TO ME! :D** **Enjoy, thanks a bundle!**

**-CrystalShardsOfRain**

Pain is similar to the graceful flowing of water. It dances and bends around it's environment, twisting into unknown crevices and regions hidden from the naked eye. It conforms to nature, breaking to obey the law that surrounds it. Pain flows and drops like undulating water, constantly moving to achieve it's objective. Domination. Pain is dangerous, and like fire, it burns. It consumes all that makes a person human, leaving nothing but an empty shell void of emotion. Only pain and agony remain, for agony is the greatest potential threat of all. It drives men mad, and steals humanity.

Thor had never felt so much pain in all his life, for he had never succumbed to it. He was a great warrior, some would say he was undefeatable. He drove his enemies into the ground, plaguing their defeated bodies with unmeasurable agony. But Loki? _Loki? _Thor couldn't begin to fathom what his brother had just committed. Thor had always vividly pictured Loki as his brother, his comrade, and his friend. But now, his thoughts were changing. Loki was not what he appeared to be. It hurt the thunder god to ponder on such things, but his mind was lively with nothing but sorrow. There was no happiness in his cranium left to acknowledge, no joy. Thor only experienced dark thoughts and heart stopping agony.

Thor gasped as another unpredictable wave of pain ensnared his body. It radiated throughout his torso like unholy fire, cascading down his legs and up his arms in strong currents. It was as if the pain that trapped his body was eating away at his soul. He could feel it in his heart, some un-known force slowly tearing away at his spirit, nibbling fruitfully on his essence. It hurt. It hurt more then the thunder god could even begin to admit. He hated the apprehensive loss that filled his subconscious, and the doubt. Thor didn't want to feel that way. He didn't want to loose his life.

_His life. _It was yet another irritating realization. Thor was dying. _Dying. _The thunder god could already hear moans and heart crushing sobs of mourning Asgardians. Those fretful sounds filled his aching head like knives, set upon destruction and despair. He could already see the Alfather's face downcast with accumulated fear and depression, and his mothers features lifeless. Thor could already picture his beloved kingdom falling apart. Behind his sweat covered eyelids, visions of Asgard danced, taunting him. The golden city's turrets were crumbling into faint mists of shimmering gold dust. People lay dead and sallow in the streets. The rainbow bridge was forever broken. But worst of all, Loki stood amongst the chaos. He stood grinning, apart from the sadness that wreaked havoc. Loki was _happy._

Thor whimpered, the small slice of sound escaping his full lips coldly. It filled the air with venerable weakness, bouncing off of the four walls containing the god effectively. Around the sterile hospital room, all of the Avengers grimaced as Thor's hysterical whimper entered their eardrums. They sat around the god's wide hospital bed in various chairs, some from the hospital's cafeteria, others from multiple waiting rooms. Every Avenger had a sombre look plastered across their face, each sorrowful gaze one of genuine worry and concern. Thor was wriggling and thrashing around his bed in a wild, frightful, frenzy, his starchy white sheets flying about the room in multiple bundles. The doctor had said he was hallucinating. One Avenger in particular was doubting that theory profusely.

Tony Stark was a brilliant man. He was man of high class intellect, regarded throughout the world as a pure, undeniable, genius. He was therefore, not stupid. He knew what pain looked like, he could easily see it. There was Thor plain as day, fighting an invisible demon in the hospital room. The thunder god may have been stabbed, but Tony could easily see that most of his agony was internal. The way Thor defended Loki was proof to his internal battle, a battle against love and hate. Loki had shoved a dagger into the god's side, that reason alone was enough to assume that Thor was suffering. The billionaire knew the thunder god loved his brother. Thor constantly ranted about Loki and his apparent "Purity". But now, Tony knew the god was finally discovering that his previous thoughts were wrong. Thor was not hallucinating. His heart was simply breaking.

The billionaire couldn't tear his eyes from the dastardly sight Thor was. Without sheets on his bed, he twisted and flew around his mattress like a wild stallion, angry and furious. The god's hospital bed scratched the pale tile floor loudly, screeching unknown curses through the air. Those loud, boisterous noises filled Tony's ears painfully, as they stormed around the room, escaping through the mesh wiring of a propped open window. Civilians outside the hospital would be freaking out, that Tony was sure of. Thor was all over the news, psychotic fangirls would be raiding the streets like homicidal maniacs, crowding just to hear more of the "Wounded Avenger". To be completely honest, it pissed Tony off. He hated hospitals and he hated reporters. The billionaire believed there was a special place in hell for those annoying people. It was a cruel reality, but true. Tony wished people would stick to their own business.

"Would someone do something already. I can't stand this. Look at him, he's like... some kind of rampant chihuahua or something." The billionaire gushed, pulling away from his seat quickly, the legs of his chair scraping the tile floor violently. Natasha looked up from the ground, her head propped up in her hands, to peer at Tony curiously. From where she was sitting, the billionaire looked just as crazy as Thor thrashing about his bed. She compared to two effortlessly, but didn't find the situation amusing what so ever. She slowly peeled her green gaze from Tony to look at Thor again. At the moment he was curled into fetal position, his hands shaking, his skin shiny from the prominent sheen of sweat lingering on his features. She felt sorry for him.

Natasha wasn't one for feeling such things, for she usually remained relatively vacant. But at the moment, she felt a tidal wave of pity for the thunder god. To be stabbed... the assassin couldn't imagine the pain. But what she could see, was the stain of scarlet on her petite hands, evidence of Thor's agony. The blood... Natasha found herself absentmindedly shivering. Beside her, sitting in his own cafeteria chair was Clint. He casually draped a muscular arm around her, trying to hold the shivering at bay. The red head flashed him a strange look before answering Tony's request. She didn't know what to make of Clint quite yet. He was her partner, yet their relationship was.. changing. It frightened her, and she didn't want to admit it. Change was a scary thing.

"We can't do anything Tony. You heard the doctors he's-" Natasha recoiled when Tony flashed her a lethal glare. She tugged at her red blouse nervously, staring at the ground again. She was thankful that she had managed to change her clothes, like all of the other Avengers before her. It made things seemingly more casual between the group, as if they were a random group of friends visiting a wounded companion, in a perfectly bland hospital. Yet, they weren't really friends, and their wounded companion? He was the god of thunder. Things couldn't have been more professional.

"Look at him. I mean... god. Can we at least wake him up? I'm sure the sedative, I mean, the _multiple _sedatives the doctor gave him have worn out by now. If you won't wake him, I will and believe me, if we don't... I'll run from this room screaming. Please." Tony placed his hands around the back of his head, on the verge of pacing. He had never felt so sure of anything in his life. They had to wake Thor up, they had to. The dark, apprehensive feeling lingering in the billionaire's chest, was enough of a wake up call. It was of vital importance to arise the thunder god, Tony could simply feel it.

The billionaire found himself gazing at the thunder god again, tearing his chocolate brown orbs from Natasha's fiery form. Sometimes, he believed the spy wasn't even human. The way she could simply peer at a person so bluntly, as if void of emotion, was frightening. But Natasha didn't look void of emotion, not at all. If anything, she had an over abundance of it. Her green eyes flitted about the room like a mouth would pointlessly soar into a light. Her small prudent mouth was poised in a perfect frown, and her flaming hair was messy. Natasha Romanov looked like an emotional wreak, for the very first time in her life.

"Fine. Wake him. If he lashes out and kills you, I won't be surprised." Tony dropped his hands to his sides, scowling. He disliked Natasha. She reminded him of a robot, a senseless, droning, robot. But despite his misgivings, he nodded and began to stroll towards Thor. He was chaotically thrashing now, his long, muscular legs flying around sporadically, as he if was suddenly being ambushed by a swarm of bees. From where the billionaire was prowling, the mattress beneath the god was creaking. Tony swore he could hear the springs snap from the strenuous weight of Thor, compressing into tiny shrivels of metal. The billionaire swallowed a mouthful of saliva. What if Thor actually _did _lash out and kill him? Tony didn't want to think to much of it, although various mental images plagued his mind, none to comforting. It was now or never.

Meanwhile, Thor was still trapped in his raging subconscious, visions of Loki tampering with his conception of rationality. Loki. Loki standing admid the ruins of Asgard laughing, his green eyes aglow with prominent victory. Behind the god of mischief, the golden turrets of Asgard continually collapsed, gold sprinkles of rubble wafting throughout the air like sparkly confetti. Thor could see everything behind his eyelids, _everything. _But what hurt the most, was the evil visage of Loki, just standing there, laughing crudely, laughing with insane joy and happiness. Where had Loki gone so wrong? Where was Thor's brother, the boy Asgard loved and cherished? Where? In truth, Loki was gone, gone like an ebbing tide, washed away from time. In truth, Loki had never been an innocent child. He had simply known to much.

Thor cringed, his heart throbbing. He wanted his brother back, the sane, witty, loving man he had always known. Thor wanted his life time companion, his friend, returned. Thor wished desperately for his old life, despite how irrational the thought was. That life was gone, gone for the better. The thunder god was no longer the man he once was, and even knew it. The god's heart cringed painfully again, as if someone, or rather something, held his weakening life source angrily, draining all of the energy his heart contained. The thunder god felt weak and feeble, and for once, didn't mind. He wanted all of the pain to subside and drift away. Thor, the god of thunder, actually wanted to die. Was there anything left to live for? That question rang throughout Thor's cranium like a beating drum, echoing through his mind endlessly, droning on, and on, and on.

_Jane. _A small piece of light entered Thor's raging subconscious, temporarily abolishing the agony that purged his thoughts. Jane. He couldn't leave her. He couldn't break his promise, his oath, his word. Thor didn't want to leave Earth without seeing her, be it life or death. He wanted to see her beautiful face again, to feel her warmth in his hands, to taste her lips. The thunder god wanted to know her like he'd never wanted to know a person before. Jane was his reason, and she would always be. A simple Midgardian women, a bright shining light, a star. Jane Foster was the only thing his mind could hold on to. It was the only shard of happiness and hope that Thor could actually feel. With Jane... things were _real. _With her, there was no pain, there _was _no suffering. Jane was life.

Suddenly, the darkness encasing Thor's mind began to fade. Within moments, it was gone, all that remained was a dim pain, a pain radiating strongly from his side. In struggled, strenuous movements, the thunder god opened his eyes. He was welcomed into a world of white, bright, blinding light. Thor blinded rapidly, in an attempt to calm his contracting pupils. Light was just as painful as dark sometimes, and all the more active. The thunder god continued to blink, wincing from the sudden attack of brightness. It was as if a searing fire burned behind his eyelids, melting his retinas into puddles of mush. Thor could mentally picture his eyes turning into liquid, the imagery painful and grotesque. He cringed, his handsome face contorting darkly, as if he had tasted a rather sour lemon.

But to get through the dark, one must accept the light. Thor grunted with strain, his eyes watering heavily. He had never felt so weak, and was determined to defeat the tiring feeling. Finally, with an anguished sigh, the thunder god fully opened his eyes. His surrounding were rather strange, for a man not knowing Earth customs. He assumed he was in some kind of healing room, for it smelled of various chemicals, much like the spices he was accustomed to in Asgard. The room was rather small, and the walls surrounding him were white. The flooring was the same spotless colour, along with the ceiling. Thor instantly felt a strong sense of distaste, for he did not find the room appealing at all. Everything was foreign, everything... odd.

The god glanced around the room fervently, his blue eyes aimlessly flitting around in a blind stupor. Admid his chaotic staring, Thor spotted a rather strange looking thing in his left wrist. Small intricate tubing, attached to the lower portion of his hand by medical tape, jutted out of his wrist uncomfortably. The thunder god followed the lengthy amount of tubing until it flowed into a rather large looking bag, a bag attached to abnormal looking metal device. Thor frowned, his brows furrowing deeply. What were the Midgardians doing? Poisoning him? From what the god could see, a oddly coloured liquid filled the spacious bag, that liquid dripping into the tubing... leading to his wrist...

In instinctual movements, Thor reached out with his opposing hand, snagging the odd looking tubing between his fingers. He began to tug frantically, ripping the slender pieces of plastic from his wrist. He could feel something snagging underneath his skin, itching and ripping away at the tender tissue underneath. The god began to pull at the plastic with a new found strength. From where the I.V was attached to his arm, small droplets of blood began to seep out from under the medical tape. Thor's heart leaped frantically, beating in harsh, consistent thuds. He could feel his blood pulse through his body angrily, each beat of his his heart fast and nerving. Thor felt like a frightened child, scared of creepy monsters and demons. Luckily, the frightful adrenalin blasting through his body did not last.

A gentle hand rested on his arm, comforting and warm. Thor paused from his consistent tugging to see who had touched him. His ocean blue orbs rested on a familiar looking face, a face he found peace in, despite how much he regarded the owner with varying distain. Tony Stark was standing near the thunder god, a panic stricken look etched across his handsome face. Thor could easily see the dark purple bags looming ungracefully beneath his calming brown gaze, and the way his tanned skin looked rather pale and sickly. He had never seen the billionaire look so unsightly before, and it startled him.

"Stop. Your okay, it's just the I.V." Tony muttered, pulling his hand away from Thor's damp skin. The thunder god nodded, drawing his right hand away from the tattered mess his opposing wrist was. He then took the opportunity to look around the hospital room again, his heart slowly detaching itself from the climax of fear it was in before. He saw the Avengers, perched around his bed in a wide arch, each friendly face filled with uncertainty and obvious worry. Thor knew why, he wasn't oblivious to that fact.

"T-The I.V?" The thunder god murmured, surprised to find his usually boisterous voice cracky and unappealing. Tony nodded, most of the Avengers simultaneously mimicking the billionaire's actions. He suddenly had the impression that an I.V wasn't a very reasonable thing to be afraid of. Internally, the the god groaned. He felt ridiculous, for Midgard was still a mystery to him. Thor wished Earth to be a second home, not a strange, alien planet. It was rather embarrassing to Thor that he had acted out so irrationally. When would he finally have the advantage of knowing Earth? When would things make sense? The thunder god was not to sure. He could barley make sense of Midgardian dialogue, or it's awkward customs. Everything was still very new to Thor, as if he was a child, born into the world for the very first time.

"An I.V... it will help make you better, alright? Don't tamper with it, you'll only hurt yourself." Thor nodded again, fingering his golden hair with his free hand. He doubted profusely that the I.V would increase his heath. He knew what Loki had stabbed him with, or at least had a hunch. No average dagger would effect the god in such a dangerous way. Usually Thor would heal, his wounds non-existent in small periods of time. In Asgard, magic could be tamed. Of course, all immortals had the ability to erase their cuts and bruises, it was simply a way of life. But the effects of even Thor's small feats of magic were clearly no longer existent. The god could feel his immortality slip away, falling free from it's well secured bonds. It scared Thor more then he was willing to accept.

"No. Your Midgardian magic cannot remedy my wounds. Some things... are impossible to repair." Tony frowned, along with Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Steve. Each look of inquiry was haunting and daunting, each frown dark and judgemental. Thor sighed, staring at his sheetless bed. For a moment, he pondered where the bedding had actually vanished to, but those thoughts merely drifted away. He was soon focused on another topic, a topic that had plagued his thoughts mere moments before. Loki. It was unfathomable for the thunder god to realize what Loki had done. He had stolen the tesseract for a second time, endangering the nine realms once more. What could be done? Thor was unsure, even he could not comprehend what plans had to be put in action. He did know however, that the future was sure to be a bleak one, if things were not set right.

"What are you talking about?" Steve raised his voice from the other side of Thor's bed, tones of obvious unease gradually ascending throughout the room. The thunder god cringed, his golden hair shifting from the unexpected sliver of movement. He did not expect his comrades to understand anything at the moment, but knew in his heart they deserved to know the truth, even if he was unsure of it himself. But where to start? Thor continued to stare at his bedding, contemplating the very meaning of his life, and what it meant to the special group of individuals perched around him. How would they react? It would only take a sentence to discover the answer.

"Did you not see the dagger Loki stabbed me with?" Thor asked, looking into the depths of Steve's blue irises strictly, almost taunting the super soldier in an odd way. Steve nodded slowly, tearing his blue gaze from Thor's fevered orbs, to glance at the other Avengers throughout the room. They all nodded, their heads bobbing about like floating apples in a barrel. It reminded the god of puppets, each string controlled figure moving swiftly and automatically. The god found himself inhaling a deep, strenuous breath. He gasped when his side throbbed painfully in protest, but covered his agony as nothing but a yawn. They all saw through it. Thor was critically wounded, and every Avenger knew it.

"Was it... enticing? An array of gold and silver...with gems? Was there an inscription on the blade-" Clint took the opportunity to interrupt the rambling god. He had in fact, noticed how beautiful the blade was. It was a deadly weapon, a sinister blade, filled with nothing but death and demons. It was still etched across his memory, a picture he wasn't likely to forget. His archers vision captured everything in pristine high definition, a talent only certain people possessed. Other then the rest of the group, he could easily recall the blade. It had been a time of desperate threat and danger, a time when his sight had been the most effective. It was branded across his mind like a burn, painful, unforgettable, and permanent.

"Yes," Clint murmured, unknowingly pulling Natasha closer to his side. "It looked like that." Thor sighed, brushing the contours of his face with the side of his hand. He couldn't believe it. His assumption, as impossible as it seemed, was completely correct. Loki had stabbed him with the blade of time, a seriously dangerous weapon. How could Loki have done it? Thor screamed internally, mourning. How could Loki have had the nerve to do such a thing? The thunder god did not know how, not at all. Thor cradled his head in his hands, fighting off tears. He could feel the persistent waves of water behind his eyelids continually torment his tear ducts endlessly.

"Aetas." Thor mumbled under his breath, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. The god could easily hear the exasperated groans of the Avengers around him and each slight shuffle of their feet. Although his eyes were closed, and his face shielded from view, Thor knew they did not understand the dangerous extent to his words. He assumed they could feel the radiating power of the daggers name slice the air, and the awful way it had sounded slipping through his lips. He knew his comrades could _feel _the horrendous terror of the blade, he only wished that they could _see _it.

The thunder god knew he would have to give the Avengers an explanation. Like the enticing power of the dagger, Thor could completely understand their need to purely _know. _The god inhaled another sharp breath, allowing the air that filled his weakening lungs slip to through his lips in staccato wisps, each rumble of carbon dioxide pronounced and harsh. "Ateas," Thor began, feeling damp condensation build up on his face, "Is the dagger I speak of. It is filled with dark magic, darker then you could possibly imagine. My father spoke of it when I was just a boy, and I... I thought nothing of it. I believed the dagger of time to be nothing but whispered lies... a bed time story for naughty children. I never thought Ateas was real... but Loki... he has alway believed in such tall tales. All legends ring with truth, I know that now. But _this_ legend? It is not one to take lightly."

Thor could feel the wound in his side _really _throb now, and found that he was struggling to breathe. Each breath he consumed burned with an indescribable wrath, searing his body with pain once again. He could feel it accumulate in waves, crashing throughout his torso with an anger he had never known. But, he had to continue with his story, he had to complete it. He glanced at all of his comrades faces, memorizing the lines that adorned their features. He had never seen the Avengers look so frightened, he had _never _seen them look so disturbed. The thunder god clenched his fists, determined to conclude his rant. He could no longer stand the gazes of horror they had glued upon their features.

"The dagger of time is.. lethal. It is said that an ancient king murdered his subjects violently with the blade, the blood of his victims forever cursing it. The king did not know that the blade was consumed with spiritual power, and pricked his finger on the knife. In an act of vengeance, the ancient king... he was erased, erased from time. The ghosts of the dead condemned the evil ruler and the blade, and for that reason, it is cursed. When blood is shed on the dagger, it's victim, be they innocent or guilty, is completely eradicated from time. Their existence becomes completely non-existent. If Loki has indeed stabbed me with Aetas... I do not have much time left in this world, or any other."

The hospital room suddenly became silent. It was as if the world had completely froze for a moment, pausing like broken record, repeating a continuous sound or word. Thor could only hear his own laboured breathing in his ears, the daunting sound filling his cranium with tones of unease. It was as if the empty silence was swallowing the god whole, eating away at his insides like deadly acid. If the world really was frozen, Thor did not wish it to be frozen at that particular moment. He could not stand the awkward quiet that rung through his mind like an irritating song, and could not stand the horrified looks on his team mates faces. It was something he wished upon no other person, yet the silence remained. It hung in the air effortlessly, waiting to be torn down violently, like hideous wall paper.

"You... you believe in.. a legend? You could be wrong, I mean, we _are_ talking about a _dagger _here-" Thor glared at Clint from his position on his bed, his blue orbs glowing with an internal fire brighter then the sun. The archer narrowed his brown eyes, folding his muscular arms around his flannel shirt defiantly, pulling away from Natasha. The rational side of his brain simply could not comprehend Thor's speech, it seemed impossible to even bother comprehending. But, a small weed of belief sprouted near his heart, and that small sprout was enough. The thunder god was telling the truth.

"I do not lie Clint Barton. All legends ring with truth. Aetas is real, and Loki will use it as he sees fit." Thor added strongly, wincing as the pain in his side gradually ascended. "He has something planned, and we must discover what it is. Loki will condemn this world, if we do not act now." Thor pounded his clenched fists on his mattress rather hard, dramatically getting at his point. Beneath his folded hands, the god's mattress creaked again, wobbling dangerously, evidence of the erratic thrashing it had suffered beforehand. Unfortunately, Thor's demand was seemingly unheard. Each Avenger stared at the thunder god as if he was crazy for suggesting such a insane idea. Beside Thor, Bruce Banner cleared his throat.

"You, are not going anywhere. You need to get better, walking around won't help. You've been _stabbed _Thor, by some... mystical dagger. We can't afford to loose you right now. We'll do what we can to solve this, but you have to stay here in the hospital. It's for your own good." Thor stared at Bruce as if he had just stabbed him with a shard of black, cruel, ice. The thunder god was determined to remain with the group. He was an Avenger, an elite member of the team. Not only that, but Loki was _his _brother. Loki was _his _responsibility. Thor didn't expect the Avengers to understand his predicament, he didn't expect them to understand anything at all. The thunder god gripped the sides of his mattress hard. His fingernails drove into the tight, restricting fabric harshly, as if he were de-gutting a deer. At the moment, Thor longed to feel mjolnir between his fingers, but his magical hammer was nowhere in sight, along with his armour. Thor felt naked.

"I will not stay in this... _hospital_. You have no idea what you are dealing with, Bruce Banner. The dagger of time waits for _no one. _I will either die in this healing room, or I will die fighting. I _want _to die fighting. Please, do not take this from me. I _will_ see my brother avenged, I will not sit here and fade. I will not die here." Thor stared into Bruce's brown eyes pleading. In Asgard, a man was well regarded if he perished by sword. _That _was what Thor wanted, a chance to perish the way he wanted. It was the only slice of time the god felt that he could actually control.

Bruce fingered his wire glasses uncomfortably. Thor could see that obvious battle that waged war behind his eyes, despite the fact that the thunder god's fate was not Bruce's to control. Thor would have what he wanted, whether Bruce Banner liked it or not. The thunder god could not imagine sitting around, dying in pitiful agony. He simply could not fathom it. He did not want to die in a room full of sorrow, admits crying souls and agony pledged sobs. It would almost be like drowning in a sense, drowning in thousands of pain filled tears. To die that way... was not in Thor's best interests.

"How long do you have?" Bruce asked quietly. The thunder god quietly considered his answer. He truly did not know what Aetas was capable of. The blade was as old as time itself, no Asgardian knew the full extent of it's mythology, or powers. Most facts about the blade remained unknown, hidden from history and legitimacy. Aetas was a mysterious object, one that simply remained lost and un-tampered with. Thor shrugged his shoulders, his lean muscular arms twitching slightly from the act.

"I do not know." Bruce sighed, along with all of the Avengers in the room. It was a sad sound, a sound filled with ridicule and dread. Thor assumed that the scientist simply wanted things to remain safe. It was kind of him to think that way, but not necessary. Thor was capable of taking care of himself, and disapproved thoroughly of the continuous mothering his comrades were displaying. Was it better to have Thor around, or more effective to leave the god to die? This thought periled the thunder god's mind endlessly, swirling around his subconscious in a constant bustle of irritating horror. To die alone... to die... it was awful to mindlessly wonder about. Thor didn't want to die yet, he simply wasn't ready. He wanted to do more things, face more demons. The thunder god wanted to live his life they way he should have years ago, after he had seen things with a gleam of renewal.

"It's... your choice Thor. Just... don't hurt yourself." Bruce was shaking now, his hands trembling with fear and anger. He rose out of his seat quickly, the legs of his cafeteria chair scratching the ceramic tile floor noisily. He began to saunter towards the pale wood door of the hospital room, the soles of his feet padding across the floor in a dull drone. Within moments, the scientist had fled the room, the door shutting firmly behind him. At precisely that moment, Natasha and Clint lifted themselves from their chairs too, their attractive faces downcast and haggard. Natasha walked over to Thor carefully, her green eyes filled with prominent sorrow. With a steady hand, she caught Thor's large fingers between her own small spindly ones.

"We'll go talk to him. Tony will get you out of here okay? Be careful Thor." The god, along with Clint and Tony, stared at Natasha as if she had just swallowed a ticking time bomb. It was strange for the assassin to act in such a way, for her demeanour was usually cold and icy, like the country she was originally from. But none the less, she had committed an act of kindly pity, despite the groups misgivings. In several quick movements, the S.H.E.I.L.D agent plucked her fingers from Thor's, resuming her void persona once again. She then quickly reached for Clint's empty hand, pulling him from the hospital room like a child would pull their parents towards a candy store. Soon, the room was empty, the only evidence of humanity were the randomly scattered chairs.

It made Thor feel twice as fragile, to realize his actions were effortlessly dragging his team mates down the same dark hole he was falling into. He could see it in Tony's eyes, the lingering apprehension resting there as obvious as an explosion. It made the thunder god feel incredibly guilty, for he didn't want to weaken his team. Yet there he was, lying helpless on a mattress, a lethal, life threatening wound slowly tearing apart his life. It didn't make sense, and it wasn't fair. Thor felt pathetically useless, as if he was a shattered pane of glass, broken from a harsh beating.

Tony tore his brown gaze from Thor's ocean blue, to reach deep into one of his jean pockets. It was there, the billionaire pulled out a cell phone. It was a fancy looking thing, a small, black, fragile piece of Midgardian technology. In moments to fast for the thunder god to even comprehend, Tony began to randomly press various buttons on the black, sheen, piece of reenforced plastic. Thor watched the billionaire's odd interaction with the device slightly amused. It was strange for him to witness such alien things, things he wasn't accustomed to. He had never seen such an odd display of activity before, and found it weirdly different from Asgard's customs. But, that wasn't the point. Soon, Tony was holding the black piece of plastic to his ear, tapping one of his feet against the white tile floor impatiently. In a matter of moments, the device looked to be working.

"Pepper? We have to get Blondie out of here. Is there any way?..." Tony's voice began to drift off as Thor began to loose focus of the billionaire's endeavours. He was stuck in his thoughts again, trapped, lost, and mentally confused. Death plagued his mind, haunting his subconscious painfully, again and again. Thor finally concluded that he was about as helpless as a rock, continuously getting thrashed about the ocean. He concluded that pain would rule his dwindling life like a merciless king, set upon horror and agony. Hope. Where was hope? It loomed deep in the cockles of his heart weakly, like the faint fluttering of a butterflies wings. Despite the ever mounting fear of death, it was the only thing he could hold on to. Hope, as faint as a distant star, as untouchable as a kindling flame. Yet hope can be kind to those who search for it, and sometimes, is not as untouchable as the beholder may think.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello FanFiction! It has been a VERY long time since I have updated Hourglass! This chapter is rather short, but in my opinion, it is enough. This may in fact be the shortest chapter I plan on writing. Anywho, please enjoy! Don't hate on me too much, I've been really busy! Luckily, I have the summer off! No more school! :D For all of you kind, generous, AWESOME people who have shown this story support, I thank you tremendously. You guys are the reason why I write! Please read and review!**

**-CrystalShardsOfRain**

There are many forms of sorrow. Sorrow can strike when a victim is completely unaware of it, looming precariously in the mental shadows of an individuals subconscious. Sorrow can be shaped into a silvery sharp appendage of darkness and hate, crying out for a small insignificant taste of crimson blood or tears. Sorrow can pierce the fragile workings of a body like a surgical needle, prodding every organ like a sword would, intent on gore and agony. Sorrow can catch the breeze, unlike the reaching fingers of a man. Sorrow can exceed all unpredictable, unmeasurable, and impossible things. Sorrow is unconquerable.

Thor continued to ponder the conniving personality of his own sorrow, despite every wave of varying distain that plagued his venerable body the more he continued to think. He could do nothing to stop his impulsive actions, for his actions were those of a desperate man. The thunder god _wanted_ to comprehend his feelings, although the very notion seemed nonsensical and impossible. It was almost like trying to near the scolding hot depths of a star, millions of lightyears away. The thought seemed genuine, but the probability was close to zero.

Thor took a deep breath, utterly despising the feeling of agony that instantaneously purged his wounded form from the simple action. He could barely fathom the pain. The description lingered faintly on the tip of his tongue, slithering quickly away from every inclination, idea, and conclusion that sprouted within the dark confinements of his functioning mind. It felt like pure hell fire, torching every limb and appendage on his ravaged body like a useless piece of parchment immersed carelessly in a vibrant tango of red, orange, and yellow. The flames licked at his sweat adorned skin, hungry for blood. Each wicked caress of lively agony covered his trembling body in a white hot blanket of twisted flame, melting his bones and veins. The thunder god was melting. Melting within, melting into a puddle of golden mush.

The god blinked fervently, attempting to successfully abolish the sudden onslaught of fear that had consumed his imaginings. It was a useless folly he realized, trying to understand the unfathomable agony that inched furiously from the open wound on his side. He couldn't help it though, nor could he withstand the desperate feeling of simply _knowing, _knowing and understanding his sorrow and fear. It was not as tangible as he had first thought. Sorrow has wings, hidden from the sight of every individual. It takes flight, immersing every aspect of a mind in pitch black darkness. Sorrow pities no man. Sorrow only yearns for what it simply is, sorrow. The very thought forced an unwanted grimace upon his face.

He did not want to feel so weak. He did not want to feel so cautious, for cautiousness looms within the subconscious like a net. It is always there, hidden darkly within the confinements of an individuals mind. One may constantly be aware of it, while another may ignore all awareness whatsoever. But the net remains, a safe haven to fall into when provoked. Despite the apprehensive safety net within the depths of the god's mind, Thor did not feel the need to fall into it. He did not want to feel the chaotic aftermath of fear upon his skin afterwards, if the choice to fall was inevitable. Cautiousness was merely a reflection of fear in his eyes, deceiving and haunting every ravaged man and woman who saw it. Cautiousness never flees, never falters. It remains, even when the beholder is wreaked and torn apart.

Thor _was_ torn apart. His body was sliced and diced maliciously, like an apple recently cut apart by a relishing knife, set upon destruction. The deadly wound on his side was already festering. The thunder god could feel it burn wickedly, caressing and licking his skin angrily, like fire. He compared the pain to that of fingernails, fingernails peeling down his perfect torso like a butchers utensil, carving away, ripping each layer of skin down to the bone. He had refused to look at the damage. Tony had called it arrogance at the time, Thor had called it carelessness. There was nothing he could do anyway, nothing he could do but wait until his impending doom dragged every aspect of his soul away from the world of the living. He _would _die. He would leave Earth and in exchange, enter Valhalla. That was all he really could do, if the choice was presented to him clearly. However, the god intended to do much more in the time he was given to live. His inclinations sounded better opposed to sitting and waiting to die, slowly rotting away.

The thought of death scared Thor. He hadn't truly accepted it yet, not that he had expected to. The god had lived a long and glorious life, filled with love, family, victory and of course, sacrifice. But there was something missing, something he had just recently discovered among the gargantuan kaleidoscope of Midgardians on Earth. Jane Foster. The thunder god blinked back a rapid array of tears, each transparent drop hesitantly gathering in the dewy droop within the corners of his eyes. The sudden urge to cry stunned Thor, momentarily placing his thoughts in a reeling stupor. The god restrained from breaking out in tears, although the burning throb of pressure behind his ocean blue orbs stung severely, as if a nasty swarm of bees were attacking his face. He did not know what to do. He had thoroughly contemplated his whole predicament, trying to discover faults, miniature holes, cracks in the very architecture of his life. He could not find any. There were none to discover.

Even if he could see Jane, there would be nothing to say, no inkling of hope whatsoever to put her fears at ease. She would know then and there that his death would be inevitable, despite any attempt to stall it. Thor knew what she would do. Jane would try, she would fight. She would pursue the impossible, if it meant saving his life. After all, that was what he would do if their roles were evidentially switched. The god could see it all too clearly behind his quivering eyelids, he could see everything. Jane would fight to seek triumph, but it would be a folly too ridiculous to chase. It would be like attempting to cradle the wind. The wind is all too diligent and strong. It would simply seep through her caverned fingers like water would flow down a ridged embankment, wistfully escaping, untamed. Like the wind, death cannot be conquered either.

Thor could already feel hazardous tendrils of death encasing his raging subconscious, tearing apart any small wisps of rationality left within his head, much like a rambunctious child would storm about in fury. He could feel each cool strand of sinister darkness creep up and down his arms and legs in a series of symphonic waves, running across every curve of his muscular form like ice water in December. It would then freeze on his skin, brandishing every ligament, tendon, muscle, and blood vessel underneath with a cruel vengeance, a vengeance the thunder god found utterly despicable.

A large bout of monstrous thunder drew Thor from his inconceivable thoughts. He peered indecisively outside of the window in front of him, almost relishing in the satisfaction of hearing thunder again, before closing his eyes in regret. Thunder. Lightning. Rain. He missed it. He missed the exhilarating feeling of flying in a storm, the feeling of Mjolnir thrumming enjoyably in his strong hands. He missed the sharp sensation of rain pounding harshly against his face, soaking his Asgardian attire completely. He missed the taste of rain water on his lips, the furious roar of wind mussing his golden hair, and the sudden onslaught of pure energy he usually received from baring witness to such a fantastic weather phenomenon. The god slowly peeled open his blue orbs again, wincing from a sudden bolt of neon lightning outside of the window, mere inches from his nose. He would never feel such freedom again.

Another flash of lightning forked through the night sky, lighting up every inch of Thor's room in instantaneous light. Stark tower was a place rich with Midgardian finery and furniture, a place adorned with Tony Stark's personal touches and embellishments, no doubt. Thor could catch glimpses of the wealthy billionaire in almost everything he peered at, the windows, the furniture, and the architecture. Everything was overly large and ridiculously spacious. Almost every household object had sharp angles and steep slopes. It confused the thunder god bitterly, but despite all of his confuddled notions, he had come to the conclusion that Tony was a very hospitable man when he wanted to be. Thor however, did not want his pity. He knew very well that Tony's "kindness" had limits, limits that he thoroughly stressed to the Avengers on many occasions. The god did not expect Tony to continue his pursuit of utter sincerity towards him much longer. After all, it wasn't in the billionaire's nature to be so... anxious and worried all the time. The thunder god did not like it at all.

Lighting lit up the thunderous sky once again, forking through the storm clouds above like a merciless dagger, abolishing and incinerating raindrops into small wisps of crackly air. It was beautiful. The god could no longer recall the last time he had simply watched a thunder storm wreak havoc. It was an intriguing change, becoming the observer instead of the instigator. From the safe confinements of his spacious room in Stark tower, he could watch the wreathing sky as long as he pleased. No one would bother him, and no one would demand his presence. Or at least Thor hoped so. Everything seemed so unpredictable lately. The thunder god did not know whether he was on the cusp of death or not, or if Bruce Banner would suddenly change into the raging green monster he knew all too well. He was over working of late, staying up ridiculous hours with Tony in the hope to find a cure to his wound in one of the labs. Thor knew it was useless. He simply didn't expect his comrades to see things with clarity quite yet.

Thor slowly began to place one of his fingers on the sturdy glass of the window, shivering slightly when his skin connected with the cold pane. Absentmindedly, the god started to trace random raindrops as they undulated down the glass, shifting with a calculated grace Thor found utterly remarkable. Each drop of damp condensation would dribble down a sporadic slither of water on the glass, each slither created by a different rain drop, a raindrop that had proceeded down the same path. Then suddenly, the insignificant drop of wetness would shift, moving onto a different thin path of dampness, then another. It was a well repeated game, watching all of the raindrops peal silently down the glass. The thunder god quietly strained his hearing, trying to exceed his own boundary of sound. He wanted to hear the raindrops slide. He wanted to forget the world. He wanted to get lost in the raging storm outside of his gargantuan window.

He sighed in defeat, tearing his quivering hand from the cool pane of glass. He was Thor Odinson, god of thunder, and protector of Midgard. He did not have the right to disappear. Thor quickly came to the conclusion that it would be entirely selfish and vile of him to consider such horrendous ideals. It was completely conceited, the actions of mere child. Thor was not a child, not anymore. He was no longer the chauvinistic pig he used to be. There was no life in hiding, although the god barley had any life left to live anyway. Cowards run from the sun and enter the shadows, trembling with fear. Only those who have every reason to fade from life, hide. Loki was hiding. Loki was hiding because he was a monster. Loki was hiding because he had nothing left to live for, or rather, his reason for living was entirely deluded. Loki was a coward. Thor clenched his fingers at the thought, his knuckles brazen from the strenuous strain. It hurt his insides tremendously when he pondered upon the god of lies.

He could not rid his mind of Loki, no matter how hard he tried. His thoughts almost always veered back to the familiar visage of his brother, despite the urgency in which Thor attempted to conclude his perilous thoughts. Nothing worked. The thunder god continued to allow his subconscious entrance to the New York battle, the day Loki had deviously plunged Aetas into the depths of his body. He could still feel it sometimes, the blade, as it drove deep into the internal workings of his form. He could still perfectly recall how the deadly sheath of silver had pierced his skin, brandishing his torso in a series of antagonized movements, ripping apart his unyielding flesh in multiple flashes of crimson, black, and white. The pungent smell of blood had filled the air that day, along with his screams of utter agony. Of course he could always hear Aetas too, whistling through every oxygen molecule and element with an eager need for blood, simply too violent to comprehend.

Thor slowly inched away from his window, crossing each board of expensive hard wood hesitantly, for it felt like ice beneath the soles of his feet. Within moments, he stood before his bed. It was a large monstrosity, severely modern and warped. It had far too many pillows in his opinion, each grand square and rectangle large and pouffy, like everything else in Stark tower. Luckily, the mattress was phenomenal; fluffy, squishy, and solid. Just touching the awesome rectangular object sent his mind reeling with sleepy anticipation. The god appreciated the blooming red of the bed's scarlet duvet however, for it reminded him of his Asgardian attire. For a moment, he yearned to feel the soft material of his crimson cape upon his broad shoulders. The thunder god missed every article of his traditional clothing, even the chain mail. None of the Avengers would allow him access to it. Tony had said something about "molecular quantities" and how faint traces electromagnetic hullabaloo might be left on the material from the Tesseract and Aetas. Thor doubted his theory profusely. Nothing would remain, for magic was inconspicuous that way.

The thunder god momentarily scratched his golden head, before gingerly making his way in bed. The duvet was already open, the sheets sprawled out everywhere from where he had previously slept. Unfortunately, Thor could barley call his short slumber "sleep". He had been awoken mere hours before from loud bouts of thunder, shaking the very foundations of Stark tower along with his odd bed. But that simply could not be helped. Thor was a thunder god after all, it seemed astutely normal to be awoken by such a familiar event. Despite the raging storm, other pressing things had tugged the god from his fragile slumber, things that had plagued his thoughts with utter turmoil. Jane. He _needed _to tell Jane.

The thunder god rested against his awkward pillows stiffly, grimacing when a nasty stab of pain ignited his body and soul in what felt like white hot fire. He gingerly placed a hand against his life threatening wound, momentarily closing his eyes from the torture. He could no longer hold off the inevitable. It was about as useless as postponing his own rapidly accumulating demise. He had to tell her. The question was how? He could already picture her face; beautiful, pristine, but wet with angry tears. He could already detect each hysteric note of fear her harmonious voice would transmit, rising precariously with every rasped word she'd struggle to speak. Then, the god would be immersed in a frantic babble of nervous solutions, a habit Jane had always harboured when provoked. Thor curiously wondered if she had a safety net to fall into, much like the fragile webbing of cautiousness that already loomed within his own troubled cranium. He believed that she did. She would simply detest using it, much like him.

Would she forgive him? Would she forgive him for taking so long? Thor did not know. He had after all, placed a futile promise within her hands, a promise he had vowed and pledged to keep. The god was sure that he had successfully managed to obey that oath, despite all the time he had waisted in trying to return to Jane Foster whole. And now, he would be in pieces. He would return to her loving embrace as a dead man, walking a tightrope, teetering between vitality and horror. Nothing would be right between them again, he realized. Jane would turn into a zombie, much like Bruce and Tony, working all through the night and day, lifeless. That was the last thing the thunder god wanted. He didn't want to watch Jane fall apart, cascading into ruin like a temple, always on the cusp of erosion. The internal sight was almost enough to make Thor want to kill himself. He wouldn't allow her to do that to herself, he_ couldn't._

Yet leaving her without any words of confrontation or affection seemed just as horrible. Jane didn't deserve it, no individual on Midgard did. The result would be just as catastrophic, just as monumentally awful as telling her his predicament. Thor retracted his hand from his wound, seething in anger. Nothing seemed right anymore, nothing seemed fair. Why did Loki see it fit to stab him? _Why? _But the thunder god knew why, he always had known. Loki had been a rather odd child. He was different when they were children, too young to imagine glorious battles and combat. Loki had always sought out darkly cut shadows instead of sunlight. He had been particularly strange, socially awkward, and emotionless. He rarely ever sought out company back then. It did not present any favour to his cause that the warriors three had disliked him immensely, especially Lady Sif, but that didn't matter. Loki had continually acted out alone in almost everything he did, he even made Thor act as a witness. At the time, the thunder god could not comprehend it. In all honesty, the whole predicament presented much difficulty to Thor now then it used to then. But he knew. Thor knew the truth. In reality, the god had ignored all of Loki's attempts of friendship when they were kids. As they had grown older, he had become too conceited for his own good. By then, it had been too late.

Thor had no one to blame but himself. He had come to the conclusion long ago that his own arrogance and pride had been the ultimate cause of Loki's fall from grace. Thor had successfully transformed Loki into a monster, a monster that hated with every ounce of his essence. There was nothing he could do to fix his brother's black heart, for the damage was irreparable. Thor slouched in fatigue, some of the pillows on his mattress scattering to the floor. He sat there, staring aimlessly out of the window, his eyes fervently tracing lightning paths in the dark. Suddenly, an awful feeling began to chew through his chest, a feeling the god utterly despised. He instantaneously clawed at his sheets in anger, clenching a fistful of white cotton in each hand much like an individual would gather snow. What could he do? Nothing, his mind spat out furiously, nothing. Loki could not be fixed, for he was beyond hope of ever gaining normalcy and sanity again. The god of lies was far too gone. Thor blinked furiously, fighting back tears. The feeling was defeat. Thor had never hated the emotion so much in all of his life.

The god shook his head silently before retracting his sweaty hands from the cotton purity of his sheets. He had had enough of Loki. He could no longer think rationally anymore. He slowly began to ponder on Jane again, his heart thumping wildly within the cavernous security of his ribcage. He had to do something. Sleep was out of the question. Although his bed was a sight for sore eyes, he did not feel relaxed. Thor gingerly lifted his left hand from the squishy comfort of his mattress, reaching towards his bedside table in angst. He had finally reached a conclusion, silently afraid of his own internal inclinations. When his hand finally connected the cool tabletop surface, Thor wiggled his fingers in the dark, sighing in relief when his digits violently discovered the strange rectangular device Tony Stark had given him several days before. He had called it a cellphone, Thor had called it ridiculous. That accusation did not matter however, for he direly need to use it, despite his stupid argument with the billionaire.

In a series of delicate taps and clicks, Jane's pretty face appeared on the device's screen, the light from the phone illuminating the impending dark of the god's room. Tony had taught Thor how to use the phone in a blur of colour and angry sound, adamantly refusing to give him another one if he happened to snap it. The thunder god didn't think the day would come when he would actually have to use the foreign piece of technology, but unfortunately, he had been wrong. Jane continued to stare at him happily from the phone, her picture vibrant and lovely. The call button however, slapped Thor in the face. It was then he lifted his hand towards the glowing screen, his fingers hovering over the call button, shaking from anticipation.


End file.
